


on the outside, always looking in

by kerrykins (orphan_account)



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, I've had this idea for a while, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-15 18:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16938435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kerrykins
Summary: Andy Sachs, a photojournalist, has broken her leg and is confined to her apartment. The only people that visit her are her sarcastic nurse Nigel, and her socialite girlfriend Miranda.She passes time by looking out through the windows of her neighbours, looking into their lives. Soon, she notices something off about a certain neighbour of hers...Rear Window AU.ABANDONED STORY, DISCONTINUED.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, and most of Nigel's lines were taken directly from Rear Window (or at least paraphrased), because Stella's lines are too iconic to leave out.

Andy woke up to feel waves of heat scorching her face, and cursed under her breath. It had been the first time all day that she’d been able to fall asleep, her wheelchair and cast were uncomfortable and made sleep difficult.

 

She shot a hateful glare at her left leg, clad in white plaster.

 

“Here lies the broken bones of Andy E. Sachs,” it read messily. Courtesy of her friend Gunnison, who thought the whole situation was rather funny. Andy politely disagreed.

 

Running onto that racetrack had been a moronic decision on her part. Even though photographing the car crash would have been fantastic and done wonders for her already illustrious career in photojournalism.

 

Instead she had a camera shattered, a leg broken, and worst of all, she’d have to spend two more weeks in this godforsaken apartment, with nothing else to do but window-watch.

 

Andy glanced at the thermometer hung outside her window. 85. This was actual hell. Both the temperature and these detestable circumstances certainly met the criteria for it. Searingly warm, with no entertainment other than whatever mundane stuff happened a window or two away.

 

All things of interest and importance existed outside her shabby Greenwich Village street, where the most fascinating things would be the latest gossip on Harold’s wife, or the recent scandal in Hollywood. Typical.

 

She wiped a stream of sweat off her cheek, disgustedly rubbing it onto a towel she had in her lap.

 

Why couldn’t she have been in Northern California or something when she had broken her leg? At least the weather would have been mildly agreeable and the view would be more scenic than some grubby apartment complexes with broken fire escapes and no air conditioning.

 

The brunette peered outside to see if anything had happened within the fifteen minutes she had been asleep. At the bottom, the sculptor was sitting in her chair, likely taking a nap in the sun, with children giggling and running about the small patch of grass.

 

There was the pianist in pajamas, carefully tying her hair up into a bun. The old couple was sleeping on their fire escape again, likely because outside was marginally less stifling than the insulated walls of their home.

 

There was the salesman bickering with his wife, who was sick in bed. She was probably one of those people that were chronically ill, with all the pills, medicine bottles, and spoons she had scattered on the bedside table.

 

Andy couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it looked as though the wife was nagging at him for being late, or not taking the clothes out of the dryer, or something silly like that. Her husband at first had tried to placate her, but when his attempts were futile, he began yelling.

 

 _Marriage seems like an awful lot of trouble_ , Andy thought to herself, shaking her head. She’d never get married. Especially considering her occupation and girlfriend-- no, Miranda had said she preferred the term “significant other.”

 

Her mood now thoroughly ruined with her unpleasant thoughts of marriage, she turned her attention to the ballet dancer that jumped around her kitchen as she prepared some toast.

 

Andy watched her in fascination, but not longing, taking in the curves and well-toned legs.

 

She wondered if the dancer was one of those people that for some reason, were inexplicably lonesome. In the four days Andy has spent watching her neighbours, she hadn’t seen anyone enter the home of-- “Miss Torso” for whatever reason. It was odd, considering her good looks and cheerful nature. Or maybe Andy just hadn’t been paying attention well enough.

 

A knock on the door made her look away from those swaying hips and waves of golden hair.

 

“Come in.” Andy knew it was a dangerous habit, but she always had her door unlocked. After all, she couldn’t really reach the locks anyways.

 

Unsurprisingly, she heard a voice admonish her, though it wasn’t in earnest. “Really, Six, you ought to keep the door locked. You do realise someone could easily come in and kill you? Or worst of all, rob you of your dignity by giving you a scare?”

 

“I lost all of my dignity on that racetrack, along with my best camera. I don’t see what there is to rob when I’ve already made a fool of myself.” Andy chuckled ruefully.

 

There was the soft thud of a briefcase being dropped on the ground and the shuffling of feet. The brunette rolled her chair so that her back was turned to the window, and she was facing the man that had just entered her home.

 

He was of average height and dressed dapperly, with rounded spectacles and amused brown eyes. Nigel stopped by every early afternoon to check her leg, give her medicine and meals, and ensure that Andy hadn’t thrown herself off a window. Sure, he was the insurance company’s nurse, but the two knew each other well. Andy had grown fond of the man, despite the fact that he always had some smart remark to say and sometimes imparted unwanted words of wisdom.

 

“You know, the sentence for a peeping Tom is six months in the workhouse,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow at her.

 

“Well then, it’s a good thing my name isn’t Tom, hm? And hello Nigel, I’m fine, thank you so much for asking.”

 

Nigel was grinning now. “You’re welcome. And there aren’t any windows in the workhouse, in case you were wondering. Back in my day, they’d poke your eye out with a hot poker. Any of those scantily-clad broads you’re ogling worth a hot poker?” Andy just rolled her eyes at this, and didn’t respond.

 

“People nowadays ought to pay more attention to their own homes than everybody else’s. Maybe then they’d be less miserable, because they’re aware of their problems. Or something like that.” He shrugged as he rifled through his bag, withdrawing a thermometer and stopwatch.

 

“I mean, I know plenty what’s wrong with my life, and I’m still not happy,” Andy remarked. It was a lack of something more, but she wasn’t sure what. Marriage probably wasn’t the solution, though. And now Nigel was no doubt going to try to smooth talk her into marriage, for probably the sixth time this week.

 

“I see. Well, I’ll come back to that in a bit, but you rudely interrupted me. I didn’t get to finish talking about myself. Open wide now, I’m taking your temperature.” Andy obliged reluctantly.

 

“How convenient, now you can’t talk. Hallelujah, see if you can break a hundred. Anyways, I was thinking I should have been a gypsy instead of an insurance company nurse. I can smell trouble a mile away. In fact, I predicted that stock market crash back in ‘29. You remember that, don’t you?”

 

Andy nodded, then shook her head, removing the thermometer from her mouth. “How?”

 

“Oh, I was looking after some famous economist. His name has slipped away from me, it was so dull and so Anglo-Saxon. But the thing was, he had this terrible kidney ailment. It was actually nerves, but that’s besides the point. Then I put two and two together, realising that he was nervous because of overproduction. Collapse. When a man like that needs to go to the bathroom ten times a day, the whole country’s ready to fall down.”

 

Andy regarded him silently for a moment, her face somber. “Nigel-- in economics, a kidney problem and a stock market crash have no correlation whatsoever.”

 

“But it crashed, didn’t it?” His voice was bright, and Andy’s sigh was resigned. Nigel resumed his work, and Andy watched him absently.

 

“Say what you want, but I think there’s trouble brewing here in this very apartment,” he said suddenly. “You’re always looking out that window, you’re going to see a lot of things. Things you shouldn’t see. And someday, we’re all going to be in court-- Pardon, I meant _you’re_ going to be in court-- and I’m sure you’ll say something along the lines of, ‘It was all in good fun, I love my neighbour like a father.’ The judge will respond with, ‘Congratulations. You just gave birth to three years in the workplace.’ Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right,” he harrumphed.

 

“I don’t know anything of the sort,” Andy replied with a derisive snort. “Hey Nigel, what were you going to say earlier? Commentary on looking in rather than out? It’s just that it sounds a lot more appealing than whatever you’re on about, with your hypothetical, fantastic ideas of lawsuits.”

 

For the love of God, if he continued nagging her about being a peeping Andy, then she’d probably throw herself out the window. That would less painful of a fate than listening to him give her a fatherly lecture on this particular subject.

 

“Oh, I see. I’ll do my best to make this just as unpleasant as the last topic, don’t you worry your pretty little face.” He wagged a finger at her. “So, what is wrong with your life? You got that lovely woman, Miranda. So when’s the wedding? I expect an invitation, and will be thoroughly upset if I don’t receive one in my mail.”

 

“You won’t,” Andy reassured him. “We aren’t getting married, though she expects us to.”

 

He made a comically sad face. “Oh, whatever’s the matter? She’s wealthy, gorgeous, sophisticated, and makes delightful company. And you, you’re-- you’re a fairly attractive young woman with a reasonably paid job.” Andy took the towel in her lap and flung it at Nigel, who laughed uproariously.

 

“Ha. In all seriousness though, why won’t you?”

 

“Because I’m not ready for marriage now, and I don’t think I ever will be.”

 

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. Everyone just needs the right gal. And anyone, man or woman, with half a brain and get one eye open, would know that Miranda Priestly is the right gal.” He poked Andy’s arm playfully. “You don’t really need me to spell this out for you, do you?” To this, she shrugged. “She’s alright, I suppose.”

 

Nigel shoved her so hard that the brunette thought she was going to fall off her wheelchair and tumble out the window. Unfortunately, she didn’t. “Behind every ridiculous statement is always hidden the true cause.” He peered at her curiously. “Whaddya do? Have a fight? Her ex-husband loading up the shotgun?”

 

“Nigel!”

 

“Okay, I was just curious. That has happened before.”

 

Sometimes Andy wondered how the man hadn't gotten himself killed yet. Always saying the most outrageous things, rarely heeding the consequences.

 

“She’s just-- not the girl for me.”

 

The man nodded solemnly. “You’re absolutely right. She’s only perfect.”

 

“That’s exactly it,” Andy protested. “She’s too perfect. Too beautiful, too talented, too refined. She’s too everything except what I need.”

 

Miranda really was. Far too glamorous and gentle for the messy world of warzones and racetracks she lived in, and Andy was reluctant about dragging her into all ot it. It wasn’t that she thought of Miranda as nothing more than a pretty face, God knows that woman was more than capable of looking after herself.

 

Nigel’s eyebrows shot up at this. “What do you need then?” His face went slack, as if he’d just come to a realisation. “Oh. Is that something you can disclose or--” He gave her a sly look, warranting yet another towel thrown in his face. “Oof.”

 

“Get your mind out of the gutter, my friend,” Andy said exasperatedly. “I just think that I want a woman who thinks of life as something more than a new dress or a cocktail party. Someone who’s willing to prance around South America with me and live in the dirt.”

 

She paused before speaking again. “Maybe it would be best to let her be with someone else. Someone that belongs to that same world of diamonds, pearls, and fashion magazines.”

 

The bald man let out a long-suffering sigh. “Listen. I can see plain as day that you two love each other. Don’t spend all your time just analysing each other like specimens in a bottle, that’s ridiculous. And it’s all you young people do nowadays.” He and Andy were fully aware that they were closer in age than Andy was to Miranda, who was older than both of them.

 

“People have different emotional levels--” Andy began, but Nigel cut her off quickly. “Nuh uh. You love her. She loves you. The both of you get along just swell, not to mention look phenomenal together. I have two words of advice for you. Marry her.” After a brief moment of silence, he added, “That’s all.” Andy couldn’t help but chuckle at the fact that he used Miranda’s signature phrase.

 

“Miranda, does she pay you much?” The brunette inquired nonchalantly as Nigel departed. He lingered at the doorway, shooting her a mischievous grin. “Maybe.”

 

Andy turned back to the window again, a smile playing on her lips.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not beta-read, kindly excuse any mistakes!!

“No, it’s next Wednesday, Gunnison,” Andy grumbled, twirling the cord of the phone around her finger. “Wrong week, not wrong day. Don’t give that damn assignment to Paul, he won’t able to handle it. His forte is exotic flower gardens and knowing the best bistro to get coffee.”

 

Paul was a swell guy and all, but couldn’t possibly survive the warzone in Bolivia. “Send me instead-- Don’t be such a pansy, quit that worrying. Yes, my cast comes off in two weeks, Gunnison. I thought we’ve already established that.” She rolled her eyes.

 

“Fine, give it to Pam instead, she’s far more suitable. Yeah, I know I’m right. You have a nice night, now. Say hi to your wife for me. Mhm. Bye.” Andy set the receiver down and checked her watch. It was getting late, eight o’clock. And Miranda was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. She picked up the phone again, pressing the receiver to her face as she dialed the number.

 

As she waited, she drummed her fingers on her lap. Traffic maybe? Disaster at the magazine? Regardless, she hoped she got here soon.

 

She felt lips press ever so gently against her cheek and jumped a bit. Jesus Christ, that scared the living daylights out of her. 

 

Miranda was leaning over her, and smelled like peppermint and sandalwood. “Hey, Miranda.” She grinned up at the older woman happily. Typically Andy was the one looking down, but now the older woman towered over her.

 

“Hello darling.” Miranda’s voice was a soft purr. “It’s been a while.” Andy noticed that the beautiful dress she wore, with a tight, black bodice and skirt made of white tulle. She had a shawl of that same gossamer fabric draped around her shoulders.

 

“It really has been, two whole days. Say, Nigel was right. He said if I kept my door unlocked, people would be able to sneak in and give me a scare. The man really should have become a gypsy.”

 

“I thought this would be more of a pleasant surprise,” was Miranda’s wry reply.

 

“I mean, it is. I’ve never been happier to see anyone in a long time. You look marvelous.” She really did, Miranda was already a stunning woman, but the dress made her glow ethereally. This compliment earned her another peck on the cheek and a content purr in her ear.

 

“Thank you, it’s the dress, isn’t it?”

 

“While I admit it’s very nice, no. It’s just that you, and you being wonderful.”

 

“You flatter me too much. I hope you’re not always this careless when it comes to doling out compliments.” Her lips quirked upwards and she arched an eyebrow.

 

“If you love someone, you should jump at any opportunity to flatter them. I’m just doing my job, ma’am.” Andy gave her a slight salute, and then stretched up in her seat, kissing Miranda deeply.

 

The silver-haired woman got down on her knees so that she was level with Andy, brilliant blue eyes shining with mirth. “Miranda, it’s never a good sign when you get on your knees,” Andy remarked. “It means you’re either proposing or that I’ll have to take my undergarments to the dry cleaners again.” When Miranda raised her eyebrows, Andy added, “Don’t go getting any ideas, now.”

 

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” The older woman gave her a sly smile as she edged closer to Andy, slipping off one of her black gloves.

 

“Well yes, but only because it’s expensive. If it weren’t for that, I’d have no complaints. Window-watching has its perks, by the way, I’ve gleaned an awful lot of information just by looking out at the window. Also, you’ll never guess what--”

 

Andy shuddered and let out a shaky breath. Miranda had managed to slide her fingers up her skirt without her realising. Clinging onto what was left of her mind, she managed to wheeze, “Miranda, I wasn’t finished. You can’t do that, cutting me off-- Nnnngh.”

 

The older woman withdrew her hand with a smirk. “As you wish.” Before Andy could protest, Miranda licked a sticky finger, making direct eye contact with her. Oh...

 

“So sorry, darling, what were you saying earlier?” Her voice was bright and she batted her eyelashes at Andy innocuously.

 

The brunette huffed. “No need to apologise for interrupting me, I didn’t mind at all. I did mind when you stopped interrupting me though.”

 

“Hm, how intriguing. Oh dear, I’ve forgotten to ask you, how’s your leg?”

 

“Agonisingly painful.” Andy shrugged nonchalantly.

 

“And your stomach?” Miranda looked as though she was suppressing a laugh, covering her mouth delicately with her gloved hand.

 

“Empty as a football, too bad there’s nothing to eat in the fridge. Maybe you could help out with that.”

 

The older woman’s eyes glimmered brightly at the prospect. “Mm, perhaps I could. And your love life? How’s that?”

 

“Not too active.” With this, Miranda leaned into Andy, soft lips locking against hers and that gloved hand caressing her cheek. “How about now, Andrea?” Her low voice was like velvet, and Andy sighed. There wasn’t a sound in the world more lovely than that.

 

“A mild improvement,” she admitted, and Miranda snorted.

  
  
  


“I must ask,” Andy piped up. “Do you really never wear the same dress twice?” They were sitting side by side now, a stool pulled up to Andy’s wheelchair. Miranda had taken off her other glove and shawl, and they sat on the table behind them. Thankfully, she had also washed her hands thoroughly.

 

Miranda’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Only because it’s expected of me.” With her right hand, the one that  _ wasn’t _ inside Andy an hour or so ago, she lifted a corner of the tulle skirt, letting the fabric slip through her fingers. It cascaded down like water. “Fresh off the Paris plane. It’s going to be on the cover this month. Do you believe it’ll sell well?”

 

“Depends on how much it costs. I’d likely have to sell my arms, legs, and all my vital organs to afford one.”

 

“I purchased it at a steal of eleven hundred dollars.” Miranda said it so casually, Andy nearly choked on her water. “Dress might as well be listed on the stock exchange,” she remarked incredulously.

 

The older woman looked amused. “Dozens are sold a day at this price.”

 

“Who buys them? Oil barons? Tax collectors?”

 

Miranda laughed, and it was a tinkling sound. “I’d say it’s worth it, just for the occasion.” Andy raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “And what would the occasion be? Today’s just your typical, ordinary, run-of-the-mill Wednesday.” 

 

The silver-haired woman shook her head solemnly, taking Andy’s hand in hers. “Not really.” She kissed it, and her intent gaze met the brunette’s. Miranda had the most gorgeous eyes, it was the kind you’d find yourself lost in. The colour of the sky on a sunny day, when there were only a few wisps of clouds and the breeze was gentle. 

 

“It may just be a Wednesday, far away from the last weekend and far from the next. But it’s also a Wednesday I’m spending with you.” That last part came out as a shy chuckle, and Miranda’s face was flushed a faint shade of pink.

 

Andy’s heart fluttered pleasantly, and she opened her mouth to say something in response, but the doorbell rang, a harsh buzzing sound. Rats, the timing was unfortunate. Miranda rose from her chair to answer it. “Who is it?” Andy inquired.

 

“The police, they’re looking for you.” Miranda replied, feigning disbelief. She’d make a horrible actress. “I’ve reported you for stealing my heart.” 

 

Andy rolled her eyes. “You’re not funny, Miranda. But you are very sweet, I’ll give you that.”

 

“So I’ve been told. It slipped my mind to inform you of this, but I ordered something from the 21’s Club.” Andy frowned. 21’s Club. Wasn’t that the old speakeasy on West 52nd? The real glitzy one?

 

The door opened with a click, and a young man in a red uniform stepped in. He had a portable warming oven tucked under one arm, and held an ice bucket with a chilled bottle of wine in the other. “I’ll take these, thank you very much,” Miranda said graciously. She handed him a bill, and he nodded. “Is there anything else I can do for you, madame?” His accent sounded European, but Andy couldn’t place it.

 

“No, that’s all.” Andy found herself smiling at Miranda’s favourite phrase, even though she’d heard it countless times.

 

“Shall we open this wine? It’s a Montrachet.” Catching the dreamy sigh from Miranda, Andy handed her a corkscrew that was resting on the table. “Thank you, darling.” The older woman was struggling with it, a line of great concentration forming between her eyebrows. 

 

It was adorable, but Andy gestured for the bottle. “Here, hand it over.” Miranda reluctantly obliged, and it quickly fell off with a pop. Andy gave Miranda a look of tender amusement. “I can see why that was so difficult for you. Really quite strenuous.”

 

The older woman huffed, looking disgruntled. “Oh hush.”

  
  
  


After Miranda poured another glass for Andy, she sighed and settled into the loveseat by the window. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had.” She sipped her wine daintily, and Andy noticed that she held it with her pinky raised.

 

“I spent all of my morning in a sales meeting, then went over to Waldorf for a quick drink with Pierre Balmain. Wonderful fellow, but he’s constantly running his mouth. Then I went to the 21’s for lunch with the people from Harper’s Bazaar, and that’s when I ordered dinner. There were two Fall showings, and each were twenty blocks apart. It was impossible to drive because of all the traffic, and we were nearly late.” Miranda gestured to the bottle, asking Andy if she wanted more, who shook her head. “I’m fine, thanks.”

 

The older woman’s ramrod straight posture relaxed as she reclined in her seat, eyelids fluttering shut. “I later had to have a cocktail with Leland and slim Hayward; we’re trying to get his next show.”

 

“And what was Slim Hayward wearing?” Andy asked, not seriously. Miranda’s eyes shone with excitement. “She had on the most delightful mint green dress, and--” She caught the brunette’s face and rolled her eyes as Andy roared with laughter. “Oh please, Andrea, do grow up.”

 

“No, thank you.” 

 

“And to think I wrote quite a few nice things about you in my ‘Letter from the Editor,’” she tsked disapprovingly, pursing her lips. “You can’t buy that kind of publicity, darling. It’ll make itself quite useful if you ever decide to open a studio of your own here.”

 

“How could I possibly run it here when I’m busy in Pakistan?” Andy shrugged noncommittally. Miranda frowned, looking very serious all of a sudden. Was she offended?

 

“Andrea,” she started, and the brunette could feel a lecture coming on. This wasn’t going to be very pleasant, she knew that. 

 

“Don’t you think it’s time to finally come home? That way you could pick your own assignments. Make the one you want.” That last sentence sounded firmer, not as hesitant as the first ones.

 

Andy stared at her, perplexed and unsure if she heard her correctly. “Y-you mean leave the magazine?”

 

“Exactly. I could get you dozens of models, celebrities, and other clients by tomorrow,” she said eagerly, trying to gauge Andy’s reaction. “You’d do phenomenally well.”

 

The brunette grimaced. “Miranda, I can’t. I don’t fit into your world of stick-thin models, ornate dresses, and things of that sort. I belong in a Jeep, with a long range camera and mud-stained boots, somewhere in Philippines.” 

 

Miranda narrowed her eyes, a cold expression of disdain falling over her face. “I see. So you belong everywhere, all over the world, but not here? Why must you keep doing this?” 

 

Andy’s jaw tensed, and she set down her wine. “Hey, where is this coming from? I thought we were fine. I thought you were fine with this.” She was indignant. 

 

“I am, but I rarely get to see you, darling.” Her usual form of endearment felt sharp instead of comforting. “It doesn’t even have to be fashion. Contrary to what you believe, New York is filled with untold stories and unsolved mysteries. Would it kill you, Andrea? To stay grounded here?”

 

“There’s more to life than Manhattan cocktail parties, Miranda. There’s a world of suffering, famine, and war. People need to know and get involved, and I’m helping spread awareness.” Andy had seen a great deal of horrific brutality, violence, and pain. It never ceased to astound her that so many people were so blissfully ignorant, and that most of the time, the ones aware of it did nothing.

 

“No.” Miranda snarled, her lip curling in anger. “You’re continuously toddling off to the farthest corners of the world, putting yourself in the line of fire.” Andy was about to interject, but the older woman silenced her with a raised hand.

 

“Do you ever think what that does to me? You don’t know how many nights I spend praying you’re safe, awaiting your telegram every morning. I can’t function properly anymore. You could die at any moment, it just takes a second, Andrea.” She sounded on the verge of hysterics now, her voice shrill and chest heaving with every shallow breath.   
  


Andy was worried that she might pass out, and bit her lip worriedly. “Miranda, I--”

 

“I can’t lose you.” The older woman’s voice was at its normal register again, albeit quieter. Before Andy could even speak, Miranda murmured a hasty, “That’s all” and with quick strides, retreated into the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, not beta-read! i kind of rushed this one because i have to go somewhere soon!! thank you so much to all of those that took the time to comment, and to those who have been reading this story <3

Andy had decided to reopen her blinds and peered outside as Miranda got dinner ready.

 

Below the apartment of the salesman, a young woman with red hair was carefully applying makeup as she gazed at herself in the mirror.

 

After teasing her hair and straightening her dress, she rose from her chair and strode over to a candlelit table, with a cheap but acceptable bottle of champagne in the centre. It looked as though she was expecting company.

 

Andy leaned forward with increased interest. Behind her, she could hear the faint din of silverware being placed on a table, but she didn’t turn around, taking a tentative sip from her half-empty wineglass.

 

The woman was opening the door now, and Andy strained her eyes to see who her dinner guest was. The door swung open, but no one stepped in. Andy frowned confusedly at this, but kept watching.

 

The redhead was talking, her mouth moving but words not audible. Her mouth quirked into a bittersweet smile. Andy felt a pang of pity for the woman. Ah. It seemed as though her only dinner companion would be herself tonight. “Miss Lonelyheart.”

 

Miss Lonelyheart was chattering animatedly, pouring some of the champagne for herself and her “guest.” She raised her glass in a toast with a flourish, but a desolate look flitted across her face. Now she glumly sipped her wine, looking very small.

 

Andy tipped her glass in a toast sympathetically. The woman had downed her drink, and was pouring herself another one. Her lower lip trembled, and she buried her face in her hands, starting to sob.

 

Miranda was watching too now, resting her arm on the handlebars of Andy’s wheelchair. “Poor girl, she deserves to be happy.”

 

“At least that’s something you’ll never have to worry about, dear, hm?” Andy made a half-hearted attempt at a joke to lighten the mood, but it backfired. Miranda regarded her pensively. “Oh? I doubt you can see my apartment all the way on 63rd Street.” There was a brief silence, and Andy grimaced.

 

“Hey, that apartment looks like yours,” Andy pointed to the apartment to the right of the salesman’s, above the sculptor’s.

 

Miss Torso, the blonde ballet dancer, was wearing a tight-fitting cocktail dress. In her studio, three older men were balancing drinks in their hands, all laughing and talking loudly. They were all very good-looking, with rugged features and the same sophisticated air to them Miranda possessed. Likely socialites as well.

 

Miss Torso gave one of the men a radiant smile as she refilled his glass. As she turned to the icebox, he grabbed her arm and began kissing her passionately, and her arms went slack against her sides, her smile looking strained now. He continued with his endeavors, and the dancer began to push him away. Her resistance was apparently futile, as she gave up and simply tried to tilt her face away from his.

 

Once he finally let go of her, she made her way to one of the other men, clinging to his arm and using him as a barrier between her and the man that had kissed her. The grace with which she had moved about the apartment with earlier was gone, movements careful and reserved.

 

“You’re right, Andrea, it does in fact resemble my apartment,” Miranda remarked, pressing a finger to her lips thoughtfully. “Except mine has a closet I can lock myself in during unpleasant soirees such as those.”

 

Andy gave her a startled look. “Has anyone done that to you? Who are they?” The older woman just smiled. “Oh, nothing like that has happened to me in quite a while. Being treated roughly, I mean. Older men tend to not have the stamina for it anymore.” Was she being serious? Andy wasn’t sure, but was still uneasy. “How does that happen to you?”

 

“Well, they haven’t met the love of my life before in person, and typically believe I’m fabricating your existence.” She smiled ruefully, and Andy stared at her openmouthedly. “It’s not important, darling. Let’s enjoy our dinner now, shall--”

 

Miranda was interrupted by yelling from outside. They both looked out, trying to locate the source. It was coming from the salesman’s apartment. The wife, still in bed, was screeching at her husband. The older woman glanced at Andy, who was totally absorbed in the scene before them. Rolling her eyes, she turned and headed back into the kitchen.

 

The balding man had holding a tray in his hands, his face stony. His movements were robotic as he gently placed it on his wife’s bed, but threw down a cloth napkin with such force, the tray nearly collapsed. This issued an indignant cry from his wife, and the salesman ignored her. He settled into the couch in their living room, looking very weary, and dialed a number on the telephone. Then he eased into the couch. Long distance, and he was likely on hold.

 

He smiled warmly as he talked on the telephone, his sour mood forgotten. The man snuck a furtive glance at his wife’s door before murmuring something into the receiver, and then chuckled. Andy could see that the wife was creeping out of bed, pressing her ear to the wall. After a minute or so, she opened the door, pointing at him accusingly. The man quickly hung up, his face flushed, and the woman burst into peals of laughter.

 

The salesman yelled something angrily in response, which just made her laugh harder. His face like thunder, he stormed into the living room and downed a shot glass on the coffee table. His knuckles were bone white from clenching the glass so tightly, and he threw it on the wall he shared with his wife. Glass shards went flying, and the woman jumped at the sound, eyes wide and a hand pressed to her heart. Looking thoroughly satisfied, the salesman sat back down on his couch.

 

Soft piano music floated out from another apartment, the pianist’s. It was an enchanting melody, one that was sorrowful but sweet. It sounded much better than it did last night, the emotion more tangible and raw than it was before.

 

“Wherever is that lovely music coming from?” Miranda inquired as she emerged from the kitchen. “Some songwriter. I think she recently got out of an unhappy marriage,” Andy mused.

 

The older woman ignored her. “It’s wonderful, almost as though it were composed especially for us.”

 

“No wonder he’s been having such trouble writing it then.” Andy regretted those words as soon as she said them. Miranda’s mouth thinned into a line of disappointment, but she recovered quickly. “Mm. How’s the dinner looking?”

 

“Perfect,” Andy said somberly. “As always.” That last part came out less enthusiastic than she had meant it to, and she bit her lip, looking down at her lap. Guilt sank into her stomach like a rock would in water, and she didn’t have the gall to see what Miranda’s expression was now.


	4. Chapter 4

Miranda was stretched out on the loveseat near the window, gesticulating with her arms. Andy was still in her wheelchair, angrily digging her nails into a pillow resting on her lap.

 

“Andrea, there isn’t much difference between people and the way they live,” her voice was cool, knowing, and it made Andy want to throw a pillow at the wall. Miranda was in what she liked to call “work mode,” which was a stark contrast to her typical demeanor, which was warm, gentle, and polite.

 

Miranda narrowed her eyes at Andy. “Are you sprouting all this nonsense because you’re hiding something, perhaps? Because I really am having trouble comprehending why you’re so adamant on having this conversation.”

 

“I’m not hiding anything, it’s just that--”

 

The older woman broke her off. “Couldn’t you live just as easily here as you could in say, Vietnam? Is it too much to ask of you to stay here, with me, even if it’s just for a year?”

 

“Dear, please, be reasonable,” Andy sighed, resting her hand on Miranda’s arm. The older woman gave her a stern look and pulled away. “My job is very--”

 

“Very what, Andrea? Enlighten me, because I don’t see the point in going off to the most dangerous places in the world, and taking photographs. What good will that do? It’s like being a tourist on an endless vacation, with no home to call your own.”

 

Andy rolled her eyes, this argument had been going on for a solid half-hour. “Fine. You’re subject to your own opinion, but--”

 

“Your ego is so enlarged that you believe you’re the only one capable of doing this job. Did it ever occur to you that there this work can be done by people outside your special, private group of anointed people? And by those who don’t have any other obligations?”

 

“You’re not listening to me, Miranda. I’ve told you multiple times that--”

 

“No.” Miranda was finally starting to lose her patience, her voice a venomous hiss. “I might as well get everything off my chest while you’re still here. The only thing keeping you grounded right now is your leg, which will recover in only a few weeks. This may be my only chance to explain myself.”

 

“Listen woman, I made a simple but true statement, and I’ll defend it if you shut up for a moment!” Andy exclaimed, running a hand through her hair in exasperation. Miranda pursed her lips, the crease between her eyebrows deepening.

 

“If your opinion is as rude as your manner, I don’t want to hear it,” she said shortly, looking everywhere but at Andy now.

 

“Miranda, for the love of God, please simmer down.”

 

“Simmer down, shut up, and endure yet another year of heartache? Death would be preferable.”

 

“You’re acting like a child, Miranda.” Andy must have hit a sore spot, because the older woman recoiled as if she’d been burnt, pressing a hand to her chest. “Excuse me? I’m the child in this situation? I’m trying to communicate with you, expressing my concerns in a calm manner, and you’re the one blowing up at me. I’m not the wide-eyed photojournalist throwing myself into Asia for the sake of ‘opening minds and broadening perpspectives.’ Andrea.” She said her name so desperately, that Andy looked up to meet her eyes. The fire that was within them had been extinguished.

 

“I know that you think that we don’t belong together. That I’m privileged and sheltered because I’m wealthy, but you’re wrong.” She took a deep breath, and glanced at Andy to make sure she was still paying attention. 

 

“We can make this work, but we need to be willing to compromise.” Andy raised an eyebrow at this and opened her mouth to say something, but Miranda shook her head. The brunette clamped her jaw shut, but couldn’t help but feel immense frustration that she hadn’t been able to say anything at all during this discussion. She inched closer to the older woman though, willing to listen.

 

“This is my proposal.” Andy cringed at that word, and if Miranda noticed, she didn’t comment on it. “For one year, can you stay? Once the year is over, we can both go to wherever you’d like.”

 

“We?”

 

Miranda smiled wryly. “ _ Oui _ .” Andy reclined in her seat, pondering this. On one hand, she wanted to go out into the real world again, escape from this bubble of high-rise buildings and lazy summer nights. But Miranda did have a point, something needed to change in order for their relationship to continue.

 

The brunette thought briefly of her conversation with Nigel earlier, specifically the bit about leaving Miranda. Despite all the jokes she’d made, she really did want to be with the older woman. She was even more obstinate than Andy, with a mercurial personality and sharp mind that was always acutely aware of her surroundings. And Nigel may have been right when he had said that Miranda loved her. But once that one year was over, she’d indefinitely return to her photojournalism. Miranda couldn’t possibly go with her, it was utterly absurd.

 

“Miranda.” Andy licked her lips nervously.

 

“Yes?” Her voice was cautious, and Andy winced before saying, “I don’t think this will work.”

 

There was silence. After a moment, Miranda said wearily, “So that’s it? You won’t stay, and I can’t go with you.” Andy looked at her concernedly, feeling a little sick now.

 

“It’s just-- It wouldn’t be the right thing,” Andy added unhelpfully. Miranda absently traced her finger along the corner of a pillow, not looking up. She swallowed before speaking. “You don’t believe either one of us is capable of changing?”

 

“Right now, it doesn’t seem so.” With this, Miranda rose from the bed, gathering up her bag and shawl, and slipped on her gloves. 

 

“I’m in love with you, Andrea,” she said simply as she tucked her posessions into her purse. “I don’t care what you do for a living. Somehow I would just like to be a part of it.” She paused to wrap the tulle shawl around her shoulders. Andy wanted to say something, anything, but wasn’t sure what it would even be.

 

“It’s just a little disheartening to hear that I can’t do anything.”

 

“No, you’re very capable Miranda, we both know that. You can do anything, but--”

 

“But just not for you?” Miranda inquired, her voice smooth as silk. Andy didn’t know how the hell she was supposed to respond to that.

 

“You’ve got the entire world in the palm of your hand.”

 

The older woman looked at her. “Not quite, it seems. I really must be going now. Goodbye, Andrea.” She gave Andy a sad smile.

 

Shit. Andy felt panic rise up in her. Goddamnit, she’d ruined everything again. “D-did you mean goodnight?” It came out a lot less casual as she had meant it to.

 

“I meant what I said,” Miranda answered briskly. She began making her way up the steps to the door, and Andy called out, “When will I see you again?” She forced her voice to sound curious instead of terrified.

 

The older woman stopped in the doorway, her back turned. “I’m not sure. Not for a long time at least.” As she started to shut the door, Andy impulsively blurted out, “I love you.” Miranda froze again, and in the dark Andy could make out a faint smile.

 

“At least not until tomorrow evening,” she said, her voice echoing in the hall. “That’s all.” The door closed with a click, and Andy listened until the sound of heels clicking receded.


End file.
